


The Hurt Lesson

by Gunney



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Bottle Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8910646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gunney/pseuds/Gunney
Summary: An attack at the station and a lesson about pain.





	

Starsky and Hutch entered the building at 0445 on a Thursday morning. Normally, it would have been a quiet entrance completely unnoticed by most of the cops in the precinct, but not this day. This day a gauntlet of tired, overworked, underpaid and greatly relieved city employees filled the hallways. Their voices echoed off the walls with cheers and shouts and congratulations. The noise was bolstered by hundreds of hands clapping and feet stomping.

Starsky walked to the right of his partner, his left hand on the sleeve of a suspect, his right hand holding a battered 30 .06 bolt action, Springfield rifle with a scope. The rifle was almost as infamous as the suspect. Hutch held the suspect's left arm, focused on the end goal. In his own left hand there was a heavy canvas and leather bag filled with the tools of death that the suspect had been using for the past week and a half to terrorize Bay City.

The primary focus had been the police. They had lost ten officers, 8 male and 2 female. Six were gone before they even knew what they were dealing with. None had slept until the man had been apprehended. Not only had Starsky and Hutch found him, but they had managed to bring him in alive. The news had spread through the station as soon as Mildred got the confirmation call and every officer, meter maid, detective, janitor, researcher and file clerk among them wanted to see the man that had kept them locked in a station or in their homes in fear for 9 days.

The suspect was in his forties. A retired football player that never made it big, according to his file, he had stayed in shape and towered over both officers by about six-inches. He had to have been a bear to take down and bore a bandaged cut on his forehead.

He seemed overwhelmed by the noise and the crush of people, and if the cops had hoped to see hatred in his eyes, it wasn't there.

Breaking up the fleet of weary cops became a chore for the captains and lieutenants once Starsky and Hutch had disappeared into a private interrogation room on the second floor. The crowd milled reluctantly for another half hour or so until the halls finally cleared around 0515. Word passed from the highest level of authority to the lieutenants and captains, telling them to start sending officers home. The department needed to recuperate and it couldn't happen without well rested officers returning to work and covering their beats. The underlying message was that the station needed to be emptied. There needed to be fewer hot headed cops around that might decide that vigilante justice was a right they had earned over the past few days.

What only one of those captains and the chief of police knew was that the big man Starsky and Hutch had dragged into the station wasn't their suspect, but bait.

Starsky lowered himself to a chair feeling every muscle in his back, legs, and neck scream angrily at him. It all culminated in a blasted headache that he couldn't get rid of. Accidentally smashing his forehead against Joseph Hunt's cranium hadn't helped him.

The giant man sitting stoically across the table from him cleared his throat and asked, "How's your head?"

Starsky glanced over then closed tired, burning eyes. "I'm not sure it's a head anymore. Might be a soccer ball. Or a chunk of roadkill."

They were silent for a moment, watching the door, waiting for Hutch to get back.

"Those cops were sure glad to see me." Joseph said.

"You did a lot of them a favor." Starsky muttered. "They needed a night of peace. Well...day I guess."

"You really think Gary will come to see me?"

Before Starsky could respond, Hutch came in the room carrying three cups of coffee, and a paper bag clutched against his chest. He set the commestibles down on the table, made sure the door had shut behind him, then drew a chair up. His blue eyes met those of his partner and he shook his head. "That was insane."

"Anybody say anything?" Starsky asked.

"No..no. They all think we got him. They all want a piece of him though. Two-thirds of the guys are still out there."

Starsky gave Joseph a guilty look then sighed. "We gotta keep you cuffed for now. At least until-"

"I understand." Joseph said. "I know how powerful loyalty can be."

"In the meantime, have a sandwich, huh?" Hutch said, turning the handle of one of the coffee mugs toward Joseph's hands, and pulling a sandwich wrapped in butcher paper out of the paper bag.

For a few minutes the three men went about the mechanics of filling empty stomachs, listening to the hubbub outside the room as it gradually lessened. They were visited briefly by Captain Dobey and Minnie, who brought them two typewriters, reams of forms and more coffee. Reluctantly the two cops turned toward the task of catching up on the paperwork that had been neglected over the past week, sitting with the gentle giant who never made a sound.

By 1000 hours Starsky had fallen asleep, slumped in his chair. Hutch, bleary eyed, but still plugging away at the keys, kept a quiet conversation going with their 'prisoner'.

"Gary was okay when we were kids. A little intense sometimes. He always had a strong sense of wrong and right. Once he made a decision he would stick to it." Joseph shrugged. "He was always so small, so weak, so…"

"Inconsequential." Hutch said.

"He didn't seem like a threat." Joseph nodded. "I was there to keep the bullies off his back, keep him out of trouble. I made sure he got to school and home without getting beat up. But I always figured he didn't notice me...you know. I was just a shadow that he didn't realize was there."

"And then you went to basic training and Gary didn't have his protector anymore." Hutch said.

Joseph rolled his shoulders, reminding Hutch that he was still cuffed. After glancing toward the door Hutch dug into his pocket and opened one of the cuffs. Joseph slowly stretched out thick, muscle bound arms, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

"What was he like in basic?"

"I don't know much. We were separated pretty quickly once we stepped off the bus. The commission wasn't going to get Gary out of the physical training, but they made it pretty clear that he was classed differently than the rest of us grunts. I saw him once, a few weeks later. We were on KP together. He seemed stronger, tougher. He'd broken his glasses and mended them with tape. He had his hand wrapped in bandages and said he'd accidentally broken a glass at chow. I had no reason not to believe him. Later I heard he'd had a fight with an MP but...that was it."

"Maybe it started there." Hutch said thoughtfully. "A fight...maybe a fight he lost, with a military cop. Gary had to have already been feeling vulnerable, and he didn't have you there." Hutch was silent for another minute then stood and went to the phone on the wall. He dialed records and waited for the line to pick up.

"Hey Bob, listen, can I get military records on a Gary Weatherly, Army, born in Lansing, Michigan, birthdate…" He glanced to Joseph, "January 9th, 1945. Thanks."

"You and Gary, you both graduated out of basic at the same time?"

"Sure." Joseph nodded. "We were in different units, but we stood up at the same time. Gary had higher rank than me, but all of his guys did."

"Did he seem stronger then?"

"Sure...we all were."

Hutch smiled tiredly and sat back down, burying his forehead in his hands for a moment. "And after basic you had no contact with him?"

"Not until a year ago." Joseph said, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. "By then I figured we were both out of the army, we'd both seen a few things in life. I was surprised to be invited to his home. He had a lovely wife, three beautiful children. He'd...come into his own, I thought."

Hutch nodded. "Then he showed you his basement."

Joseph straightened, his face paling. Giant brown eyes went unfocused and Joseph looked into the past, seeing again sights that he knew he couldn't forget. "One hundred and twelve." He said, his voice barely cresting a whisper. "All in the line of duty."

"That line of duty ended 12 years ago." Starsky muttered, eyes still closed. "Thirty bodies ago."

Hutch glanced toward his partner, then back to the giant silently filling the room. "When did you begin to get the idea that he was protecting you?"

"He made it pretty clear when my PO disappeared." Joseph said. "I'd been hounded by some guys I'd known in the joint, and they had disappeared too. He told me he'd killed them each, separately, in a different way. Each one looked like a gang killing, or an accident."

"Why your probation officer?"

Joseph suddenly looked sick and he dropped his gaze to the floor. "I'd been drinking. I called Gary and he invited me over. I was angry, drunk, stupid. I told him my PO wouldn't get off my back. That he was threatening to send me back up again. That was all Gary needed."

Starsky sat up in his chair, wincing at the pull of sore muscles. "How long ago was that?"

"Four months."

Starsky made it out of his chair and went to the door, a hand pressed against his spine. "What was your POs name?"

"Cavendaugh, Bernie Cavendaugh."

"Cavendaugh." Starsky said, nodding. "I'm gonna go by records and pick up some lunch."

Hutch nodded, waiting until his partner had left the room before he slumped back in his chair.

"Gary likes to be outside." Joseph said.

"Hmm?"

"I was just...Gary...he doesn't like being inside. That's why he works construction. He doesn't like being in buildings."

Hutch sighed softly, and nodded. "I get the feeling that for your sake he'll make an exception."

They were quiet for a bit, the sounds from the halls bleeding into the room. Hutch was used to the silence of the station, after the long hours that he and Starsky spent there, completing reports, filling in for officers with families, keeping vigil. He turned back to his reports, reading the last paragraph and pecking at the keys half heartedly. The longer the silence stretched the heavier it seemed, more than normal and Hutch frowned. He realized a second later that he was sweating. Hutch stood and went to eastern corner of the room and stared up at the air duct that normally fed a gentle stream of cool breeze into the room.

There was no breeze, no whir of a fan.

"The fans are turned off." Hutch said, mostly to himself, then went to the phone. He'd dialed Dobey's extension, hung up, then dialed again before he realized there wasn't a ring tone.

The FBIs new protocol for shutting down a hostage situation started clanging in his ears and he recognized the hallmarks. Shut down the air, shut down communication, shutting down power would be next, he thought.

Then the room went black.

Hutch pulled his gun and stood by the door for a long moment, listening to the silence. There were distant voices, quietly asking questions that went unanswered, and nothing coming from the man behind him. He didn't expect to hear a tortured sob come from the giant. The fist hammering into his kidney came as a total surprise too. Three shots to the back from a fist the size of a ham sandwich brought pain, kicked air out of his lungs and robbed him of the ability to use his knees.

Hutch clung to the door knob with one hand, keeping hold of his gun with the other. He could feel Joseph trying to break his grip and hung on all the tighter, until he could shove back against him. The giant stumbled a half step back and Hutch managed to open the door a few inches before Joseph regained his balance.

Hutch was shoved forward once more. The door slammed shut with a loud bang and Joseph went after his ribs, pounding until they both heard one of them break. Hutch cried out against the pain, felt his gun arm weaken and Joseph force his knuckles into the wall over and over until he had to let go.

Once Joseph had the gun the attack stopped.

Hutch's right side was ablaze with pain. He felt Joseph wrap an arm under his left armpit and was dragged away from the door and into a chair. He sat gasping like a fish, Joseph's hand holding him upright, the big man muttering something over and over while he fished for the cuff keys.

Hutch saw the one loose cuff dangling and he grabbed it. With an ease born of everyday use Hutch slipped the cufflink around his own wrist and snapped it closed. The muttering stopped and the giant froze, staring in the gloom at the shining metal cuff.

Hutch knew where the cuff key was. It was under his still gasping ass in the back pocket of his jeans. At his first opportunity he would swallow it if he had to, he decided, dazed.

The pain wasn't going away. Each breath was jostling the broken rib and the swelling above his kidney, and it was making him angry. He was angrier still when he realized that what Joseph had been muttering had been an apology.

Hutch gritted his teeth together hard and met the dull glint of Joseph's eyes. "When did you talk to him?"

Joseph looked like a trapped animal. His eyes were darting back and forth between Hutch and the space behind him. He still had the gun in his free hand but didn't seem aware of it. He had the size and weight advantage over Hutch yet the fact of the cufflink now firmly snapped around the cop's wrist was enough to keep him glued to the spot.

Anyone else would have shot him by now, shot the handcuff off and been gone.

Instead Joseph tugged twice on the handcuff, jerking Hutch's arm forward, before he bent at the waist breathing hard. Hutch took a deep breath and yanked back as hard as he could. Joseph's head snapped up and Hutch demanded, "When?"

"Last night. An hour before you came to get me."

"You told him where you'd be?"

Joseph nodded.

"And what did he tell you?"

"That he already had an in. And that I was to bide my time. And when the power went out he…" Joseph trailed off and they both heard a distant, staccato pop pop. Hutch knew what it meant and felt his heart fall out of his chest. Joseph dropped his chin to his sternum and Hutch jerked on the cuffs again.

"Do you know what the word accessory means?" He demanded. He reached for the gun, got his hand around the cylinder then felt Joseph jerk the gun free again. The man may not have been a future scholar of America, but he had been trained by one of the best armies in the world.

"Get up." Joseph said, pointing the gun at the cop.

It took him a minute of shallow, pain-filled breaths before Hutch could push himself up, his arm bracing his ribcage. He took one step and felt the impact of his foot hitting the ground like a knife in the side. The second step wasn't any better but he had been prepared for it. Joseph didn't baby him for long.

He was dragged the rest of the way to the door, then through it and into the empty hallway. The only light came from the windows of open offices, but the sun was bright enough to make the hallway seem blinding compared to the interrogation room.

"What's the least traveled stairway?"

"What?"

Joseph jerked on the handcuffs and Hutch felt the jolt all the way down his spine. The pain forced deeper breaths through his ribcage and his side burned. He pointed behind him with a thumb, his handcuffed hand closing around Joseph's wrist to prevent anymore jostling.

Joseph dragged him down the hall at a crouch, the gun held at waist level. They rounded the corner almost at a jog, Joseph leading the way. It was Joseph's face and bulk that went out into the open first, prompting the scared cops at the end of the east hall to shoot first and think later. They opened up on the giant without warning and bullets sang through the air.

Joseph's momentum had been all that was keeping Hutch moving and he was slung into the hall like the tail end of a whip, unable to stop himself. Joseph yanked him back before any of the bullets could find a home, but Hutch's brief appearance had done the trick. The cops stopped shooting, shouting to each other that there was an officer in the line of fire.

Hutch didn't hear Starsky. He knew he would have if his partner had been there.

"We have to get to the garage." Joseph told him. "Gary said we have to make it to the garage."

Hutch didn't respond at first, sinking to one knee, trying to force air into his lungs.

"Tell them that!" Joseph bellowed, swinging the gun sideways against the front of Hutch's ribcage. Pain blinded him, he lost air and went to both knees, wheezing. He felt Joseph tug on the cuffs and dragged air in.

"I can't...tell them anything...if I can't...breathe." He punched out, forcing his eyes open and up, glaring hard at Joseph until the man took a breath of his own and calmed. He'd bought himself some time and Hutch used it, sinking into a crouch on the floor and bending until the pressure was off his lungs on the right side.

"Who's out there?" He shouted.

"Jameson, Kyle and Nethers." A voice shouted back. Kyle's voice, Hutch recognized, remembering the red-headed rookie from a graduation ceremony a few years back.

"Kyle!" Hutch shouted, swallowed against the nausea building and continued, "He's got a gun. I've got him cuffed. Let us through and get the word out. Everybody stay out of our way. Once were free of the station…" Hutch trailed off, meeting Joseph's eyes. He didn't have to finish.

He heard Kyle shout, "We hear ya, Sergeant."

"Where's Starsky?"

"We haven't seen him."

Hutch met Joseph's eyes again and waited for the big man to make his decision. When he did he was gentler about it, guiding Hutch back to his feet and supporting his left arm. They crept toward the T where the north hall met the east/west hall.

Joseph took the first step into the open, scanned both ends of the hall then turned towards the west end, backing around the corner and keeping Hutch at an angle in front of his body.

"Hey Kyle, find Starsky, huh?" Hutch said, once he had a good look at the young cops crouched at the other end of the hallway. They looked scared, wide eyed and trigger happy. "Ask him what's taking him so long with lunch."

"Yeah." Kyle said. Trying to shrug off the fear. Trying to match the lighthearted tone of the sergeant. "You want me to send him after you with a pizza?"

"Only if there's no anchovies." Hutch said, forcing a grin that faded as Joseph's back pressed against the bar on the stairwell door. They disappeared into the darkened, concrete tower on the west end of the building and Hutch was swung around, blind, until he hit the wall.

His head bounced off hard, cold, cinder block and he slumped. Then he felt Joseph's thick fingers wedging into his back pocket and slung his free hand back, trying to fight the giant.

Joseph managed to get the keys but Hutch knocked them out of his hand. They disappeared into the darkness, barely making noise as they clattered down a story or two. Hutch expected to feel another fist in his back in retaliation. Instead the same fist was slapped against the wall near his now pounding head.

"Come on." Joseph grunted, a moment later, and they were moving down the stairs at a pace that Hutch found dizzying. He missed a few steps then went skidding to his knees on the first floor landing, his body weight upsetting Joseph's balance.

The big man went down and Hutch grappled for the gun, using every wrestling trick he could remember. He had his left shoulder stretched at a painful angle, the gun in his right hand and Joseph's head and neck in a knee lock when the door a floor below them swung open with a squeak.

Joseph squirmed, trying to buck his hips and gain some leverage but Hutch put the muzzle of the gun to Joseph's forehead, his eyes wide in warning. They heard the slip of sneakers on the painted concrete landing, controlled breaths coming from one pair of lungs. The person below listening as hard as they were. Then the sneakers started to climb, one step at a time.

Hutch lifted the gun, pointing it at the sliver of the staircase that he could see through the railing. But instead of a head easing into view he was caught off guard by a soft grunt and a hand latching around the lowest rung of the stair railing.

Then he caught the flash of blue eyes peering over the base of the first floor landing.

"Starsky…" Hutch slumped back, and let the muzzle of the gun fall, keeping his legs tensed around Joseph's neck as his partner scrambled up the stairs.

He heard the familiar sound of gun metal on leather and the snap of the thong that meant Starsky was holstering his weapon, then his partner swung into view. He had his cuff keys out in minutes, digging a knee into Joseph's spine and keeping him on the floor while he took the cuff off Hutch and secured Joseph's hands behind his back.

As soon as his hand was free, Hutch braced his ribs and started working on untangling the human knot he'd created. He felt Starsky's hand supporting his head a moment later, brushing his hair away from what might have been a cut on his head.

The need to breathe without shooting pain was too important for him to have been bothered with head wounds. Starsky caught on quickly, pulling his shirt out of the way, checking one side, then the other until he found what had to have been a Picasso-esque display of bruises.

Starsky helped him sit up, propping him against the wall, before he turned to Joseph, patted him down, then shoved him chest first onto the incline of the stairs. "Stay there." He warned, then knelt by Hutch again.

"What was the shooting?" Hutch asked.

"Gary. He's here. He was dressed as a cop. He took out Henderson, grabbed Minnie and disappeared into the elevator."

"M-minnie?" Hutch asked.

Starsky nodded, resettling Hutch's shirt. "The elevator is stopped between the first and second floors. We forced the doors open but the car was empty. Don't know where they are."

"Kyle, Jameson and Nethers were in the hall upstairs. They started shooting as soon as-" Hutch was cut off by the bark of guns, a few seconds worth of a furious gun battle that ended with two cries of surprise or pain. The sound had come from above them, and both men stared at the spine of the stairs, waiting.

The door above swept open with a squeal, banging against the wall behind it. A voice shouted, "Hunt!" and they heard a muffled, feminine whimper.

Starsky slipped his arm under Hutch's right shoulder and got both of them upright, heading for the stairs that would take them down to the basement. The moment Gary heard them move he was moving too. They could hear him hitting the stairs at about the same speed, slowed by caution, where Hutch and Starsky were slowed by injury.

He had to have stopped when he found Joseph, because Starsky hit the door to the basement and was through it and nearly to the deserted cafeteria before they heard another slam echoing down the hall.

Starsky forced the pair through a scattered maze of chairs and tables, heading toward the kitchen. There was a door to the delivery area back there, and that would give them access to the garage, their vehicles, medical help.

They didn't make it, not before Minnie shrieked and Gary shouted from the cafeteria, "If you leave, the lady cop dies." The voice was well projected, the words enunciated, his tone mildly theatrical. "And...Sergeant Hutchinson, I know your partner is with you, or you wouldn't have covered so much distance in so short a time. I want both of you in front of me in ten seconds, unarmed. No jackets, shirts open. Ten…"

Starsky and Hutch stared at each other, knowing for a fact that Gary would kill Minnie if they left. He wouldn't need the leverage of a hostage if his targets were gone.

"Nine."

Starsky shed his jacket and took his gun out of the holster. He popped the clip out of the weapon and dropped it into the empty holster, then set the empty weapon on the floor and kicked it under the batwing style kitchen door.

"Eight."

It slid thirty feet into the middle of the cafeteria before it was stopped by the legs of a chair.

Hutch emptied the rounds out of his own gun, stuck them in a pocket then handed his revolver to Starsky.

"Seven."

There wasn't much Hutch could do about his t-shirt, but Starsky had worn plaid, and he unbuttoned the shirt then got under Hutch's arm.

"Six."

Getting up hurt, and Hutch paled, bracing against the door jamb.

"Five"

"Four"

"Three."

"Two."

They stepped through the door right before he said, "One."

Tiny Minnie had tears on her face, but her eyes were focused. She was scared but she was also paying attention. She zeroed in on Hutch and fought more tears, shaking her head.

Starsky raised Hutch's revolver, popped the cylinder open to show Gary it was empty, then set the gun on a table as they passed it.

Gary seemed satisfied, his narrow face widening a little as he smiled briefly. "Hunt tells me he broke a rib, Sergeant Hutchinson. If it's more comfortable for you, you may sit."

"Hutch?"

Hutch nodded, breathing a confirmation before Starsky helped him into a chair. Hutch closed his eyes, his arm wrapped around his rib cage, and focused on staying conscious, each breath a task.

"Very good. You, Sergeant Starsky, I'm afraid we're going to have to restrain you. Why don't you unlock the cuffs on Mr. Hunt?"

Starsky considered angles for a moment, then dug into his pocket and pulled out his set of cuff keys. Joseph stood still while he opened the cuffs, rubbing his wrists once they were free. Starsky said nothing, handing the big man the cuffs and the keys before he thrust his hands out in front of him.

"No, no." Gary said, then looked up to the darkened ceiling of the cafeteria. "There...that beam there." He said, nodding to an exposed, steel support beam that ran the length of the room.

"You've gotta be kidding." Starsky exclaimed.

"No, no." Gary said, then jabbed the end of his gun into Minnie's side viciously. It would leave no more than a bruise but the move surprised her, eliciting a sob. It was enough to get Starsky moving.

The dark haired cop was directed onto a table, Joseph following him up. He could just reach the flat edge of the support beam, which gave a scant few inches for the chain. He could stand relatively comfortably on the table without the metal of the cuffs digging into his wrists.

Gary watched the spectacle, waiting for Joseph to climb back down. Once the big man was on solid ground, Gary said, "Now the table."

Joseph, Hutch and Starsky stared at Gary, waiting for an explanation or the punchline. When he got neither, Joseph took the edge of the table in his hands and pulled. Starsky did most of a chin up, and clung to the beam with his arms and hands, rather than let the cuffs dig into his wrists.

"Very impressive, Starsky." Gary said. "Now...Minnie my love. I'm going to let you go. You're going to leave the station and tell your Captain Dobey all about what has happened here. You're going to tell him that his officers are unarmed and incapacitated, and you're going to tell him that in sixty minutes I will contact him by telephone. Until that time he is to stay outside, or lose two officers. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Minnie nodded rapidly, her eyes meeting Starsky's then Hutch's, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's ok, Minnie. Do what he says." Hutch reassured her, the pain slurring his speech. "It'll be ok."

"Ok," Minnie said, stepping cautiously away from Gary as if he were a viper coiled to strike. "Ok."

"Remember, sixty minutes." Gary said.

"Sixty minutes." Minnie breathed then tore across the floor to the stairwell and raced up the stairs.

They each watched her leave, then looked to Gary. The man stood at just under six feet, reed thin and balding. He had been wearing aviator glasses but had them hanging from the neck of his stolen uniform shirt. For a moment Gary looked over the gun in his hand, then considered the cop dangling from the ceiling. He smiled, as if at a private joke, then eyed Hutch, gauging the man's health with a long glance.

"We've spent a long time avoiding one another, haven't we?" Gary said, content to keep his distance from the two policemen. "I admit I've been...very busy." He said with a chuckle, as if the murders of 10 cops were equivalent to having a lot of paperwork to finish. "I just didn't expect the harvest to be so plentiful this year."

"Harvest…" Starsky grunted, his arms starting to tremble with the effort of holding himself up. "They were cops. Not strawberries."

"They were ripe mistakes, wrapped up in flesh and the lie of the uniform." Gary said, his tone a little sharper, but his face still relaxed. "Why do you think the two of you are still alive? Because you don't lie with the clothes that you wear. You hit the streets as the same men that you are when you wake up in the morning."

"If that were true, you'd be dead." Hutch said. "I woke up this morning wishing I didn't have a badge that prevented me from killing scum like you."

"Oh...listen to it, Joseph. Strong words from a man who can't stand on his own. Remind him please that he's weak." Gary said, watching Joseph. The giant stalled, looking unsure of himself and Gary cooed, "It's alright. He'll be alright. These two will live. They just have more to learn, that's all. Go on."

Joseph looked mildly disgusted as he crossed the gap between himself and Hutch. The closer he got, Hutch could tell the man was sweating, and not because he'd been exerting himself. Something was going on in the subconscious parts of Joseph's brain that only a psychiatric professional could unravel.

"Give him a hug." Gary said.

"Back off, Joseph!" Hutch heard Starsky shout.

Joseph's arms reached down, wrapping around Hutch's torso. Hutch waited until Joseph had gotten too close to dodge, then sank two fists as hard as he could into the big man's belly. It was like hitting the side of a whale. The impact had no effect on the giant and hurt Hutch like hell. Then the arms closed around him, he was lifted from the chair and the pressure built. His elbows were pressed into his sides and his broken rib burst into flame. He could feel the ribs around it creaking, trying to bend. It was suddenly impossible to expand his rib cage and his lungs joined in the fray, screaming for attention and oxygen.

Beyond the pounding of his pulse in his ears he could hear Starsky screaming, demanding Hutch be put down, threatening to kill Gary and everyone he cared about.

"You...wanted to help him…" Hutch forced out of his mouth, his voice loud enough that Joseph could hear him. "Remember…? Rem...member.." He was going to pass out and then he was going to stop breathing and everything would be over. Hutch knew it, and yet he was still awake when Gary told Joseph to put him down.

The oxygenated blood rushed into his head so fast Hutch couldn't tell up from down. Joseph gently set him back in the chair but he slumped from his seat and went to the floor, clinging to the tile. He could hear the whine of his own breath, coming from his mouth labored with groans. He could hear Starsky struggling against the cuffs, the beam he dangled from, the frustration of being option-less.

"You want to fight him, Starsky?" Gary said.

"Give me half a chance, you sick freak." Starsky barked.

Gary laughed. "Are you up for a fight, Joseph? Maybe a quick round of arm wrestling. Detective Starsky wishes to test his brawn against yours."

"I don't want to fight him, Gary." Joseph said.

"No...no, you're very reluctant. I think you see what I see. I think you've noticed the integrity in these two men." Gary said, watching Starsky's struggle die a little. "I think you want what I want. More men, like this, who wear the uniform on the inside, so that they don't have to wear one on the outside."

The man with the gun walked toward Starsky, monitoring Hutch as the blonde cop finally got a grip on the world again.

Hutch tried to push himself up but it hurt too much. The floor felt good and he shifted gradually onto his good side. The moment gravity came into play, draining the blood that had begun to collect around the broken rib, he felt his lungs respond. Breathing came easier and he was lightheaded again with the renewed flow of oxygen.

Gary stopped far enough from Starsky that a good kick couldn't reach him. "You run, yes, Sergeant Starsky? The both of you, you stay in shape. Not like those fat cops that sit around stuffing their faces with sugar and pretending they can still do their jobs. Like Dobey. When was the last time that old fart actually captured a criminal with his bare hands?"

"Just last week." Starsky said, "He had to pick your mother up out of the gutter. She was trying to find you."

Gary watched him, a soft smile on his lips. "Not your best work, Starsky. But spirited." Then Gary ran toward the dark haired cop, grabbing him around the ankles and dragging him back along the length of the beam for ten feet. The move ripped Starsky's hands from the painted metal, and he fell, the cuffs and his wrists taking all of his weight, and the weight of the sadistic man dragging him down.

Starsky felt one of his thumb's dislocate and tried to drag himself and Gary off the floor so that he could hang onto the beam again. Gary clung to him, anchored, until Starsky stopped struggling. Before he let Starsky go, Gary spun the detective, protecting himself from a retaliatory kick and adding to the discomfort.

Starsky's dislocated thumb became tangled between the cuff-links and the beam, and he curled up toward the ceiling with a tortured cry. His feet flew up, his heels latching onto the flat bottom of the T and he levered himself up until he could release the pressure on the handcuffs. He freed his thumb, reinstated his grip on the beam and tried not to look at the mangled digit.

"Could Dobey have done that?" Gary asked, breathing a little harder. "Or Yves, or the late "Iron Mike"? Old men don't belong in the police force, any more than old criminals belong at the head of organizations. Old leaders in charge of countries."

"He was old wasn't he? Old, fat...the MP you tangled with?" Hutch spoke from the floor.

Gary's eyes flashed to Joseph. "You've been telling tales, Hunt," he said. "True tales." Gary hunched in front of Hutchinson and tugged at the t-shirt revealing the patchwork of contusions. "A good guess, sergeant. He was old. He had a belly that rivaled your Captain Dobey. He liked to drink...and fornicate."

The last word came out of Gary's mouth like a living worm, trembling and cowering. The word was the lowest thing Gary could think to say and it showed.

"What about your father?" Starsky asked, breathing hard. "Was he old? Fat? Did he drink?"

"He drank." Gary said standing up. He made a simple motion with his hand and after a pause Joseph stepped forward again. While the giant knelt to grab Hutch by his arms and re-situate him in the chair Gary said, "He drank, and drank. So did Sergeant Lutz. He drank so that he couldn't feel, then he drank because he was numb."

Without warning Gary pointed his gun at the ceiling and squeezed off a round. The bullet bounced off a connecting strut inches from Starsky's feet and the cop jumped, losing his hold and falling again. His weight came down on his wrists, the cuffs jerked against his dislocated thumb, then he felt the heel of his hand slip out of the cuff. He caught the link with his fingers and held on, trembling.

He had an advantage now, but falling from the beam would blow it.

"He hid behind his uniform, playing the part of the proper sergeant. No one saw it. No one saw the filth that he hid under the stiff creases, starched shirt, squared tie. But when I spilled his belly open they saw it." Gary's focus changed. He seemed satisfied that Starsky was once more dangling from the ceiling and walked toward Hutch. The blonde cop had barely made a sound while he was moved from the floor and Gary had to know that he was still alive.

He bent at the waist, face inches from Hutch and breathed on him, guiding Hutch's head up and forward with the warm muzzle of the gun against his cheek. "You must stay awake, Sergeant. You must stay with me. There are lessons to be learned, yet."

"Leave him alone." Starsky called, his voice tight, preoccupied. "You wanna take your sick, twisted fantasy out on fat, fake cops...why'd you go after Kyle and Nethers?"

"There are casualties...collateral damage." Gary said, still frozen inches from Hutch's face.

"Yeah...Janey. Was Jane collateral damage?"

"Who?"

"Officer Janey O'Malley. Twenty-six years old, green eyes, red hair. You killed her and left in her a back alley." Starsky screamed.

Gary sighed, dropped his head, then straightened and looked to Joseph. "Would you quiet him, please?"

This time Joseph didn't move.

"That's beyond your scruples, is it?" Gary asked, "You've reached the limit of your own self-hatred? Another lesson, gentlemen." Gary said and turned the gun on Joseph. "Self-preservation is touted as the greatest strength of mankind. We are said to have survived evolution through this single minded practice." Gary pulled the trigger, the gun barked and Joseph gained a pimple in the middle of his forehead.

His head snapped back and he went down.

"Self-preservation is a fool's errand." Gary turned and entertained himself with the looks on the faces of the two cops. "Your own morality won't allow you to believe it, but I've done Joseph a favor. The judge would hardly have granted him the immunity you promised given today's events. He would have done it himself in jail, given the right tools."

Hutch grit his teeth. "You're a smart guy, Gary. Or at least you think you are."

"It's not about smarts, Hutchinson, it's about unyielding evidence. You're a cop, you should know!" Gary reached forward and slapped a palm against Hutch's wounded side, eliciting a shout of pain and knocking the wounded cop back to the floor.

"The body reacts a wound by rushing hemoglobin and blood to the area. We see redness, bruises, swelling." Gary slapped Hutch's side again, harder this time, and Hutch choked on the pain, squirming but unable to get away. "The swelling causes pain signals that rush to the brain and we know that we are hurt. But do you know.." Gary paused, grabbed one of the chairs at the tables and dragged it toward Starsky. He stepped up, produced a folding knife from a pocket and grabbed a chunk of Starsky's hair, yanking his head back.

He put the point of the knife to Starsky's head just under the hairline and dug into the skin, dragging the knife down behind the cop's ear to his jaw. The cut was deep and produced a gush of blood that instantly soaked into Starsky's hair and coated his neck. "Did you know, Sergeant Starsky, that the brain can not feel pain?"

Gary smiled at the hard glare he received. He watched the muscles in Starsky's jaw bunch as the cop worked through the shock and the sting of the cut. "The nerves in the skin receive the damage and they eventually die, suffocated by scar tissue. The thicker the scar the more impervious you are to the pain. Do you know that scars make you stronger?"

"What about your scars?" Starsky bit out, gathering spit in his mouth and launching it into Gary's eyes. The killer flinched, blinked then considered the spittle that came away onto his fingertips. A second later Starsky heard the knife clatter to the floor and for a minute and a half Gary buried small, bony fists in his stomach.

He didn't have the power Joseph had but the assault served to hamper Starsky's ability to breathe. Before long he was wheezing, his hand growing weaker where it clutched the loose cuff-link.

"My scars are my own." Gary said, out of breath. He stepped down from the chair and spun the dangling cop again, then walked back to the blonde. He fished Hutchinson's pocket watch from his jeans and popped it open. "Only forty minutes left to the hour. And if you two keep interrupting we won't get through all of our lessons."

Gary knelt, getting closer to Hutch so that he could put the pocket watch back.

Hutch thrust his hands forward as hard and as fast as he could manage. All he had was a butter knife, collected from the floor of the dining room, but a knife was a knife and this one had to do. He jabbed the dull utensil straight at Gary's gut, felt the resistance of cloth and skin, then felt it give and the splash of warm blood on his hands.

Gary lurched up and back, his hand flying to his chest and yanking the knife free. Blood spouted into the air following the blade of the knife, then leaking down the front of the uniform shirt. Gary stared at the blade, the inch and a half of blood marking the depth the knife had gone to. Like a dipstick in a car. He was breathing harder now, looking a little dazed.

"Resourceful." He said, and the knife clattered from his hand. Then the gun came up and Gary shot three rounds toward Starsky.

Before the first bullet flew the dark haired cop had let go of the loose handcuff and dropped the five feet to the ground. He landed in a crouch and rolled toward the gun he'd slid across the floor. His hand throbbed but he forced his fingers into the holster at his side, retrieved the full clip and loaded the gun.

Gary's weapon was swinging back toward Hutch when Starsky stood, pointed his weapon and emptied it. Seven shots followed each other, four slamming home and punching flesh and crimson out of Gary's uniform shirt. He dropped like a stone, eyes glazed open. Starsky walked toward him, empty gun still pointed, breathing hard through his open mouth.

He kicked Gary's gun from a limp hand and watched the blood bubble around the edges of two of the wounds. More blood snaked out of Gary's open mouth and Starsky wished there was another bullet in his gun. Just one more.

Starsky wanted to kick the body, but he didn't. He wanted to grab the knife and scar up the body's face but he didn't. He wanted to stomp down on Gary's hand, while there was still some chance he might feel it, and rip his thumb from his body, but he didn't. Starsky forced himself to put his empty gun back in the holster.

He went to his partner and sat behind him, supporting his head and back with his legs. He slung his arm across the front of Hutch's chest and felt the blonde man latch on. The muscles in his shoulders and back, that he had thought tortured earlier that morning, now felt like frozen slabs of solid ice. Moving from the position he was in would be excruciating.

Hutch was still breathing, still conscious. He sank against his partner and pressed Starsky's hand against his chest letting him feel the reassurance of his own heartbeat.

He heard Starsky sob behind him, draw in a shaky breath and say, "Where do you even start...with a guy like that?"

The blonde clutched Starsky's hand a little closer to him, and shook his head. There were a hundred quaint things he could say but he didn't. A hundred things universally meant to make a person feel better, but he didn't want to feel better. Gary Weatherly had been born a twisted soul into a twisted world. He'd interpreted life a certain way and used every memory as fuel for his mania. Hutch didn't want to feel better about that because he knew it had happened before and would happen again. And the truth was, "We can't fix it. That kinda hurt." Hutch said finally.

"Did...did we cause it? Did we make it worse?"

"Yeah." Hutch said, swallowing around the bile in his throat, the pain that was stealing everything from him, the rush of guilt. "Maybe."

They were quiet for a moment, Hutch struggling not to pass out. Starsky was gradually calming, his breath evening out.

"He was never gonna stop. He couldn't stop. He would never be done." Hutch said.

Starsky finally looked away from Gary's body, his gaze resting on Joseph. "He killed his best friend."

"A man like that doesn't have friends, Starsk." Pain hit him, and the blonde stiffened, talking through it. "Only enemies and allies."

"What were we?"

"Something new, I think. Something he'd been searching for in all the wrong places."

Both men fell silent for a moment, watching the bodies, resting in the absolute stillness.

It was broken by the patter of shoes on the painted concrete. First one pair, then two, then five. Cops filled the faintly lit hallway that opened into the cafeteria. A radio squawked and the power snapped on, flushing the room with cold, white light.

The evidence of violence was different under the fluorescent glow. It was harder to see the pain that Gary had lived with, all his life. Only the hard, stunned look on his face and the blood on his chest. The light was reflected in the pool of blood that had gathered under Joseph's head. His final decision couldn't be seen, vanishing like a ghost at day break.

Hutch was pale, sweat bathed. Blood from Starsky's head had splattered onto his partner's arm, soaking the sleeve of his t-shirt. Starsky's thumb had ballooned to twice it's size. These things could be seen. Analyzed in seconds. Calculated.

When they wrote their reports the history of the tortured soul gone from the room would look no more important than a grocery list, or a traffic ticket. The same type setting that was used to record the number of rolls of toilet paper that disappeared out of the men's restroom every week, would be used in court, at the coroner's office and in the brief obituary. Indistinguishable.

Starsky suddenly knew what Gary had been talking about. The cops that hid who they were, that hid their humanity behind the uniformity of the same shirt, tie and slacks that everyone else wore. Humanity, lies, sadism, selfishness...all of those things were meant to be overlooked when a cop stepped into his uniform and hit the beat. The uniform made them beacons of the law. Symbols of rightness in the world.

Somewhere, in the very beginning of Gary Weatherly, a uniform had betrayed him. Hurt him. Destroyed his trust. Gary had become smarter for it, less gullible, quicker. He'd also turned into a monster.

The monster was all the public would see, and that would mean that the unstoppable cycle would continue on. The public, wrapped safely in their cozy, separated worlds, would read the paper and ask, "What kind of a person does such horrible things?"

There would be no one there to say, "You...you are capable of being like this man. All it takes is the wrong set of circumstances."

No one would write in the paper about a normal boy, tortured by a symbol of trust, and possessing the kind of single-mindedness that had invented the cotton gin, the motor car, the airplane. Only his genius was twisted, turned from productivity and molded for destruction. Molded, in part, by the very military that those cozy members of the public expected to be protected by. And not from.

Starsky could hear them now. Divorcing themselves of the guilt, and the responsibility with that single phrase. Wallowing in their own ignorance. Happily accepting the false security of learned helplessness because it meant they could sleep in on a Sunday.

"What kind of person…" Starsky said, hating the words more than he had hated anything else in the English language. They stuck in his windpipe like cotton and he burned with anger. Anger he'd seen somewhere else before. In Gary.

Could he really blame the ignorant for their ignorance? Could he blame a blind man for not seeing the truth? A deaf man for not hearing it?

When the anger drained, leaving him weak, Starsky realized that someone was calling his name. Dobey was there in front of him, trying to break his grip on Hutch. There was a gurney waiting to take his partner to the hospital, he just had to let go long enough for them to get the blonde onto it.

Starsky jolted and let go. He walked with the gurney, Dobey supporting him at his side, a hand tucked into Hutch's. Both men went into the ambulance at the same moment in time and the world changed enough that Starsky forgot the bodies. The hurt. He blinded himself to the memories, deafened himself to the hollow sounds.

He slept without pain or guilt, and woke to sit with his partner in the hospital, choosing not to feel anymore. He let himself be one of the ignorant for a while and watched the world pass by with a detached, elitist snub.

A month later he and Hutch sat together in his home. Ten beer bottles sat empty on the floor around them and they talked. Shielded by the alcohol, protected by the promise that at least some of what they discussed would be wiped from their memories come the morning, they brought Gary back and Joseph, the ten dead Bay City cops, and the twenty that had gone before. They laid the dead bodies before them and paid bitter respect to every victim they had ever put away for the crime of being guilty of taking their own revenge.

The partners accepted what little they could do to solve the problem. Then they made a promise.

"I never want to hear those words come out of my own mouth, Hutch." Starsky muttered. "Never will I say, "What kind of person…""

"Never." Hutch agreed. "Because we know, right? We know."

"We do know."

"Maybe that was the lesson." Hutch said. "The one he never got to."

"Maybe."

"Shame no one will listen to it." Hutch said.

"It hurts too much." Starsky said. "Nobody wants to hurt like that."

"Yet we all do."

"Yes. We do." Starsky said.


End file.
